


The Rose of Naamah

by Edonohana



Category: Kushiel's Legacy - Carey
Genre: BDSM, F/F, Femslash, Humiliation, Masochism, Masturbation, Painplay, Public Sex, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-20
Updated: 2009-11-20
Packaged: 2017-10-03 11:25:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edonohana/pseuds/Edonohana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was not my patron; there was no contract, nothing forcing me to obey her. I could have walked away, or called for help. I could have given my signale. I knew this, and I also knew that I would not disobey; could not disobey; did not wish to disobey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rose of Naamah

The sweet chime of crystal bells heralded our arrival at the Midsummer Ball. As we stepped over the threshold into Balm House, fragrant pink petals fluttered softly down and caught in Alcuin's icefall hair, in Delaunay's russet braid. The effect was charming. I wished I had a mirror to see the petals in my own hair. They must have been poignantly pale against my sable curls.

Lacking a reflection to gaze upon, I made do with the looks of hunger and longing that so many of the revelers turned toward us. Delaunay had outdone himself in planning our attire. In keeping with the theme of summer and new life, so fitted to my and Alcuin's youth, he had dressed us all in the colors of the season.

Delaunay wore a doublet and hose of velvet the color of freshly turned earth, against which his hair glowed like the setting sun. Alcuin's breeches and shirt were sewn from cambric so fine that it could pass unwrinkled through a golden ring, as we saw when the dressmaker demonstrated that remarkable property. The breeches were white as the clouds of a perfect day, the shirt as blue as that same day's sky but translucent, so that the outline of his unfinished marque could be faintly perceived, all overlaid in azure. His extraordinary hair was another cloud, and his skin was barely darker. Against that play of cerulean and snow, the darkness of his eyes came as a heart-stopping shock- as was Delaunay's intent.

I had been disappointed when Delaunay first informed us of his plans, for though it was clear how well it would suit Alcuin's delicacy, my own dramatic coloring and marque required, I thought, a darker setting: if not sangoire, at least red or black. But when I first espied myself in the mirror, I had to admit his sagacity. He had dressed me in layers of white gauze, floating and translucent, over a tight-fitting silk sheath of palest pink that covered me from knee to throat- excepting the back, which dipped low to display my marque. From the front, the effect was of mist cloaking my nakedness, like Naamah at the Lake of Tale's Beginning. From the back, my marque's harsh black thorns accented with scarlet drops were as shocking and enticing as Alcuin's eyes.

It was a splendid ball. Alcuin and Delaunay and I soon separated, each going our separate ways to be seen, and to see more than we were intended to. I danced and flirted and most of all, listened; but soon my feet grew weary in their slippers of pink beaten leather; though everyone was charmed at how I appeared barefoot to a glance from afar, in truth the slippers were no more cushion than my own skin when it came to dancing on Balm's marble floor; nor, alas, did they offer better protection from the clumsy tread of the Duc de la Volette- a man whom I vowed to never accept as a patron. True, the sharp pain of a crushed toe afforded some pleasure to one such as myself, but the indignity was unsupportable.

Balm is the House of compassion, comfort, and gentleness; I knew little of its ways, but felt sure that such a House would not host a ball without providing a place to rest one's feet. There were chairs scattered around the edges of the ballroom, as there are at any ball, but Balm, I thought, would do more. As I suspected, a small side door off the main ballroom led into a cozy room furnished with plump chairs and footrests, and little tables stocked with wine, sherbet, and gently steaming tea, with tiny raspberry tarts and savory custards, and every kind of seasonal fruit and berry. Ten or twelve weary revelers sat at ease in the chairs, eating or chatting or resting their feet, and from behind the curtained nooks could be heard the sounds of discreet pleasure, well-muffled by the velvet draperies.

Balm is, after all, a House of Naamah.

I poured myself a goblet of wine, then filled a plate with sliced plums and peaches, and pastries decorated with candied roses and violets. Then I turned to settle down for a brief rest and feast.

Were it not for Delaunay's training, the sight that met my eyes would have made me drop both plate and glass.

Melisande Shahrizai stood before me. Disdaining the theme of spring, she was dressed in a sheath of black velvet, with sapphires at her ears and throat. Her shoulders were bare, and white as Alcuin's; but she wore long gloves of soft black leather. I trembled to think of those gloved hands touching my skin, or of her removing a glove to strike me with it or to scratch me with her long sharp nails.

Delaunay's training or no, I could not prevent myself from drawing in a long, ragged breath. Melisande smiled to hear it.

"Have you been to Balm before?" she asked, as lightly as if she was a mere acquaintance making conversation. "It must seem strange to one such as you."

"Yes," I said, my wits scattering like a flock of sparrows before a hawk. "No."

Slowly, she drew off one glove. Her nails were indeed long and sharp, and she had enameled them in black. A wave of pleasurable fear broke over me at the sight of those nails, at the thought of them lightly scratching... or perhaps scratching hard. I shuddered, and struggled to control my breathing. I hastily replaced my goblet and plate on the table, for I felt my training loose its hold upon me.

Melisande dropped her glove on the floor. "Go on," she said. "Pick it up."

I stooped for it, but before I could touch it a hand came down across the nape of my neck, and five claws pricked gently at the side of my throat. I froze, bent over awkwardly, half-afraid I'd topple to the ground.

"What would you like me to do to you?" she purred.

Out of the corner of my eyes, even doubled over as I was, I could see that everyone in the room was watching us. Tears came to my eyes at the humiliation of being trapped in public with my rump in the air, but I could not stand. Not with Melisande's hand holding me in place.

She drew one nail along my throat, and I gasped in fear and ecstasy. "Tell me what you're hoping I'll do, little anguisette. Tell me honestly. Tell me loudly enough that the whole room can hear... and if it strikes my fancy, maybe I'll do it."

I swallowed. Her voice and her sharp, caressing nails turned my bones to water, and I feared that I'd collapse. But she knew me well.

"I did not give you permission to move," she said.

My knees locked in place with no bidding from myself to do so. I twisted my neck around, trying to look her in the eyes. It was impossible. Instead, I saw a small crowd, attracted either by my gasps or because someone had run to tell his friends. Tears welled up in my eyes, and fell to the marble floor.

"I command you to speak: what do you desire?"

"I want..." I swallowed. It was not so much humiliation that made me hesitate, as the multitude of possibilities that I both longed for and feared. A nail dug into my throat, sending a wave of heat through my belly and my nether parts, and I saw a drop of blood fall to the floor and mingle with my tears.

"I want you to put your fingers inside me," I said. "I want you to scratch me inside with your nails."

I thought I heard a gasp from someone in the crowd.

"I see," said Melisande. "But you don't need me for that. Stand up."

I staggered to my feet. "Not here-!"

"Yes," she said. "Here. Now."

She was not my patron; there was no contract, nothing forcing me to obey her. I could have walked away, or called for help. I could have given my signale. I knew this, and I also knew that I would not disobey; could not disobey; did not wish to disobey.

"Lift up your skirts," she ordered.

A good slave knows her master's desires, and this slave had trained in the Night Court, where they spend weeks teaching how to disrobe. First I reached underneath and plucked away the scrap of pink silk that an amateur might think should be the last to go, and dropped it on the floor. Only then did I lift the layers of gauze. The pink silk sheath I had to roll up over my thighs, then slowly up over my hips. It was so tight that it left red marks across my ivory skin, and my breath caught even more to see them. Finally, I managed to drag it up to my belly, exposing my nether lips and their down of sable.

I am sure, now, that the watchers must have reacted to this, but by then I almost forgotten them. They added an extra spice of humiliation, to be sure; but my attention was all on Melisande. I could feel the blood throbbing between my legs, and if I thought it would have swayed her, I would have gotten down on my knees and begged her to touch me. I would have knelt and begged anyway, except that she had ordered me not to move without her command.

"Very pretty," she said, her tone light and amused. "Just the color of your silk and the petals in your hair. However did Delaunay get the match? Did he make you expose yourself to the dressmaker?"

Whatever the situation, I could not bear to let such an insult to Delaunay go by. "Certainly not!" I exclaimed. "My dress is the exact color of the Rose of Naamah- and those are Rose of Naamah petals in my hair. It merely happens that certain parts of me are also that shade."

"But not for long," murmured Melisande. "Put your finger into the Rose of Naamah."

I obeyed. I was already as wet as grass after a spring shower, and I moaned aloud at my own touch. Involuntarily, I began to rub my finger back and forth.

"Now, the nail. Lightly."

The gentle scratching almost drove me to my knees. My entire body was aflame with desire. I swallowed hard, trying not to fall.

"Now hard."

As hard as I could, I ripped my nail along my inner parts. A wave of pain burst over me, and my vision hazed scarlet. I barely felt Melisande's hands on my shoulders, supporting me. She whispered in my ear, "Phédre. Spend."

The sound of my name on her lips, as much as her command, tore away whatever control I had. My climax took me with such force that I would have collapsed had she not held me. Indeed, the room faded from red to black for a moment, and when I came to my senses, I was sprawled on the floor, with my fine gauze and silk spattered with blood, a sharp pain between my legs, and a sweet languor suffusing my body.

"Phédre!" Delaunay stormed into the room, Alcuin close behind him, and swept me up into his arms. The crowd hurriedly dispersed.

"Always a pleasure to see you, my lord Delaunay," said Melisande. She spoke as if she had met him in passing, on the street. "And a pleasure to see your little anguisette."

I had never seen Delaunay so angry. His arms tensed around me, and he seemed to struggle for words. Before he could find them, Melisande stepped up to me.

"You like sharp objects," she murmured. "I'll keep that in mind."


End file.
